


College is Not a Place for Hopeless Romantics

by thatgirl255



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Use, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirl255/pseuds/thatgirl255
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College is a place of studies and work, or at least that's how Bruce sees it. Anything else can wait until after the seven or so years he's willing to dedicate for his numerous degrees. That ideologically lasts all of two months before he meets one Clint Barton, and his sanity seems to spiral down the drain from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	College is Not a Place for Hopeless Romantics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bruvebanner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruvebanner/gifts).



> I was talking about this with slowdancingangels one night and then decided to actually go and write it. It was supposed to be short but a month later here we are. I can't say I didn't try. Hope you enjoy!

Two months after Bruce started college the sun shone in his eye as he walked to class. He averted his gaze, only to have it fall on something much more brilliant than the sun. Over by the centre of the campus there were a few students practising yoga, or at least that's what it looked like it was set up to be; the students all seemed to be slacking off right now. There was one man, however, with short styled blond hair and lightly tanned skin scattered with sun kissed freckles, standing with his hands on his ankles. His legs were perfectly straight, perk round ass wiggling tantalizingly lazily in the air as he smiled at something one of his friends said. 

Bruce was just wondering what they were talking about the moment before he walked into a tree.

“I just...I couldn't stop looking?” Bruce liked to think that he wasn't too much of an over sharer, but there were a few people that just made him want to babble. Tony, his best friend who seemed to genuinely like to hear what he had to say, was one of them. “He just looked so nice, and he had such a nice ass, holy shit.” Bruce sighed, and he tried not to think about how he was acting like the teenager he told himself he no later was as he hugged Tony's pillow to his chest. “I really really...like...yeah.”

“Would like to do things to it?” Tony (un)helpfully supplied, wheeling over on his chair so that he could smirk over at him. He had that look on his face, the one that said that he was right about something and he was about to rub it in his face. “College getting a little too hot for you, Brucie?”

Bruce had an ideologically that school was purely for schoolwork, and nothing more. He knew that Tony knew that, so he ignored him. “He's really hot?” He said it like it was a question, when really it was a fact of life. He was a man, he was human, he had urges, but it was rare that he found someone so distractingly, overwhelmingly, utterly drop dead _gorgeous_. “I don't even know his name but I want to see him again?”

“Yo. You should totally hit that.”

He and Tony both looked up at the newcomer standing right outside the ajar door. Bruce breath hitched. That was him, the guy with the perfect ass, only now he had a close up look at his face. He didn't realize he was thinking this until now, but he was half hoping that this was a 'good from far but far from good' situation so that he could get him out of his mind. Unfortunately for him, the blond was cute from afar and up close Bruce wanted to _lick every single one of his barely there freckles_. God dammit. 

The **H** ot blond, with a capital, bolded H, thankfully was giving all of his attention to Tony. “I lost my umbrella can I borrow yours?” 

Tony clicked his tongue before he turned around and pushed off the wall so that his chair would wheel over to the other side of the room like the lazy asshole he was. He grabbed his umbrella, a really nice very expensive one with various coding designing the top of it, and tossed it to the blond. “Don't lose it. I just replaced the other one.”

The blond...smiled sheepishly. It was a completely juxtaposition from the way he reached over and grabbed the umbrella so confidently, his toned muscles flexing under his tight long sleeve shirt. Bruce couldn't look away. “I won't, I won't.” He assured, and then just as soon as he arrived he was gone. The door clicked as the blond left the dorm, and Bruce died. 

He could feel it, the soul leaving his body. This was it, this was the end of his seventeen years of life. Death by a very nice, hot blond who gave him the last bit of advice to _hit that_. Bruce was struck with the realization that he very much _wanted_ to hit that. He wanted to take that to a dinner, he wanted to make that have a very nice time, and then he wanted to take that back to bed and hit that _very very hard._

He made a noise that, to his own ears, sounded like a mix between a wounded animal and a cow in heat. Of course that attracted Tony's attention. “Whoa, what, dude you're all red...” Bruce buried his face in the pillow the moment he noticed Tony's sudden look of understanding.

Bruce had expected the laughter, but it still made a small hot ball of embarrassment and shame curl up in his stomach. 

“ _Him?_ ” Tony was still making these hiccuping little guffaws but he seemed just in control of himself to proceed to tease him about it. “Holy shit Bruce we need to improve your standards, that guy's the fucking _worst._ ” Bruce looked up just enough to see Tony wipe a nonexistent tear from his eye like the asshole he really was. Why he was his best friend was beyond him. “He sings show tunes in the shower. Loudly. _Show tunes._ ”

The way he said it it seemed to be something bad. Bruce didn't get it. There were nothing wrong with show tunes, heck, he liked the few musicals he watched. Actually...thanking about the man singing in the shower was.... ~~hot~~ cute. He was just about to tell Tony about how that wasn't the _worst_ thing someone could do when he continued. 

“There are a lot of better asses in the world, come on, take my hand and I can show you the world, Princess.” He held out his hand mockingly, and Bruce had had enough. Tony was his friend so he was always allowed to question his life choices, but this? 

_This was far too important._

“Excuse you.” Bruce mumbled at first, pulling his head out of the pillow so that he could glare at Tony. Well, it felt like a pout, but he was pretty sure he was totally glaring. “His ass is the best I have ever seen. It's not even possible, Tony. I've calculated the curve of his ass, and put it against celebrities that are known for theirs, and his is mathematically better.” He could have stopped there, because that was more than good enough of a point, but the words just kept tumbling out. “And he's so flexible, I couldn't even think about doing half the things that he can do. He can touch his head with his toes, Tony, _I've seen it_. It's amazing, and did you see what just happened?” Bruce furiously gestured to the door, his eyes burning into Tony as he willed him to understand. “That smile? He's adorable, but his body must walked straight out of a painting. How can you say that there is anything better than that, how dare you not recognize what you're living wi—where are you going?”

Before he was done Tony got up and left the room, completely silent. Bruce heard the clucking of glasses, the running of the tap, and barely a minute later Tony was back and handing him a glass of water.

“Here.” He handed him the drink, and Bruce, very cautiously, accepted it and took a sip. “You were looking really thirsty.”

Bruce nearly choked. He didn't visit Tony in his dorm for a long while.

*

No matter what Bruce did he couldn't seem to get that gorgeous blond out of his head. At the least he had a name now, Clint Barton, and Bruce liked the way it rolled off his tongue. He actually liked a lot of things about him. He liked the way he was always on time for his yoga match ups. He liked the way he was always smiling at something. He liked the way he couldn't keep still, and always seemed to be wiggling in some very nice way whenever he past. He especially liked the way he would whisper in his ear, tell him how nice he looked as his hand brushed against his chest and went lower and lower and lower until...

Okay that last one only happened in his dreams, but Bruce still liked it.

Clint Barton was extremely hot and extremely cute, and he didn't think that he had masturbated this much since he was thirteen and his room overlooked the neighbour's pool (their son was also buff and cute, so maybe he had a type) but he was in school. He wasn't struggling, but his classes and assignments required a lot of his time. Sure, every now and then he had a half a day to spare, but that was maybe once every two weeks. He didn't have the time to awkwardly flirt until he could make Clint pity him enough to agree on a date. Even if he did, Clint was really hot, there was no way he was still single. 

(“Yeah, he really is.” Tony's voice said in his head. “Stupidly single, he complains to me about it all the time. You should hit that.” 

“Shut up, past Tony.” Bruce thought in bitter response every time.)

So he didn't approach him, but dear God did he look. Until one day he forgot to.

“All donations will go towards getting new props for the theatre program!” The woman said cheerily, handing him a flyer as he was walking out of the cafeteria. “Not to mention it'll be a great show written, directed, and preformed by the freshman in the musical theatre program! It'll be great!” Bruce took it and kept walking. He wasn't interested but he at least had the decency to look at what it was being advised. Just as she said, it was a musical being performed by the freshman to raise some money for the program. It was only fifteen dollars to go and see, which wasn't bad, but it was on a same night that he put aside to calling back home and updating them on what was happening. Most of the time it was nothing, but he didn't really have much of a love for plays anyways.

“Oh, you coming to the show?” Just as Bruce was about to wrinkle up the flyer he heard a voice that made him look up. He stopped in his tracks when he realized it was Clint, looking and talking right to _him_. He was also holding a stack of flyers, and it didn't take him long to realize he was helping to hand them out too. “Didn't really peg you for the musical type, but you should come! I'm in the show.”

“I love musicals.” Bruce said in a rush, as if expecting someone to run by at any second and steal his vocal cords before he could get the words out. He blinked when he realized what he said, not sure why he said it. Sure, he didn't mind them, but he didn't _love_ them. He was about to correct himself, but then Clint _smiled_.

Well, smiled would be correct, but it was so much more than that. He didn't just smile, his whole face lit up and beamed with this brilliance that Bruce felt very awed and small just being the sole person it was directed at. His mind blanked, and he couldn't help but stare as Clint kept talking. “You should definitely come then!” He leaned in a little closer, and Bruce feared his heart would both stop beating and beat too hard it would pop out of his chest. “And stick around after. We hosting a party and it'll be fucking great.” He winked. _Fucking winked._

Bruce was going to pass out.

“Urgh...” He started in a voice he didn't recognize as his own but was very much coming from him. “Ye-yeah I would, would totally, that's just—yeah I would really—” He made a choked noise before he turned around and just walked away, very very fast. He didn't know where he was going, but he didn't stop until he was in a secluded place next to a dumpster. Which was good, considering he felt like such trash. He crouched down on the ground, putting his head between his knees. He breathed in deeply, his heart pounding and his face burning. He felt like he was about to kneel over so he took several minutes just calming himself down. 

Clint talked to him. Clint wanted him to come to his play just so he can go to a party afterwards. 

Party. He was invited to a party. He had never been to a party before. Oh no. He was going to make a fool of himself.

*

He liked to think that right at this moment he was actually blending in pretty well.

The musical, though not his thing, was good. Rough around the edges, but he still enjoyed himself. Or maybe he was just a little bias as he was looking at Clint the whole time. Either way he liked it, and as he was told he waited afterwards to get to the party. Unfortunately it wasn't Clint that led him there, but he was still there, right there, having a drink and smiling that gorgeous smile.

Bruce gulped, wondering if he should have asked someone to come with him for emotional support instead of showing up alone. Maybe not, if all went well he would be ditching that person afterwards...either for some action or to recover from getting completely and utterly rejected. Bruce tried not to think so much about the second opinion. 

Right now, all he focused on was the fact that he was standing there, holding a red cup fill of something that he hadn't tried yet, with a very clear shot to the man that he had been dreaming about ever since he watched his ass lazily swaying on that sunny day. There were tiny butterflies running rampant in his stomach, a shock of adrenaline shooting through his veins as he took a deep breath and made his way forward.

He made it two steps before he turned around and walked away.

Clint was so nice, so gorgeous, and so bright. He was _so_ out of his league. 

“Hey.” Sliding out of seemingly nowhere, Natasha leaned against the wall directly next to him with her arms crossed. Bruce liked Natasha. They didn't talk much, but they didn't need to. Almost as soon as they met they just had this comfortable respectful understanding with each other. It was nice. “You look rattled. I know a place.” She raised her eyebrow and pushed off the wall, leading him into a separate room just down the hall. It was there that he spent the rest of the night getting so high he could barely function. At that moment, it was exactly what he needed.

All in all, it wasn't a terrible night.

*

“Wow. I'm being nice saying you look like a mess.” 

Bruce groaned from where he was sprawled out on Tony's bed, hugging the pillow he had his head buried in. It was just over a week since that party, long enough that Bruce should have given up completely on Clint. He shouldn't be staring up in space daydreaming about him anymore, or looking out for him doing yoga every time he walked past, or idly writing the formulas to map out the shape of his body as he stretched. He should be over this crush, focusing solely on his school work. Still, he wasn't failing or struggling but still. 

_This was ridiculous._

He couldn't even spend the day helping Tony with his side project without having to take a break because he was day dreaming too much and nearly inputted a virus into Tony's three years worth of coding. He kept telling himself that he wasn't a teenager anymore—even if his age still ended in 'teen'—and yet he was still a worthless lout fill of stupid hormones and sexual urges. 

He sighed. Tony laughed.

“ _Holy shit_ Bruce Bear.” He stood up so that he could walk the two steps over to the bed and flop back down half on top of his friend. Bruce grunted, but didn't say anything or move. Tony was the touchy sort and trying to stop that was much more effort then just letting it happen. He was silent for all of two seconds before he was latching into one of his speeches. “We're young and we're hot and we're surrounded by people who are frustrated about school and just looking to take a load off. Don't give up on the guy, just bang someone else. Get that tension out, loosen up!” He smacked Bruce's back a little too hard, earning a jump and another groan. Like the good friend he was, Tony just laughed. “It's not cheating if you're not even together yet.”

_Ouch._

Bruce wiggled until Tony's got off him enough so that he could roll over, switching to clutching the pillow to his chest as he thought things over. He didn't really _want_ to go out and deal with...people but Tony had a point. Because of this massive crush he had turned useless, distracted, _horny_. Maybe if he could just resolved some of that tension he would be able to focus a little better, get over this guy. Hell, he had only talked to him once, this had to be purely sexual, right?

“...Okay.” Bruce grumbled a little reluctantly. Still, Tony's eyes _lit up_ and he didn't have to be his best friend for him to recognize he already had a plan. “What are you thinking?”

It was then that Tony convinced Bruce to come to one of Thor's parties.

Bruce didn't have many friends, but he did consider Thor one of them. The man was very smart, very easy to get a long with, and _very_ friendly. Within five minutes of meeting the guy they were talking as if they had known each other for years. Within the hour Thor was throwing an arm around him and loudly telling the waitress to bring a beer for his new friend.

He didn't even bat an eye when Bruce told him he didn't drink and allowed him to get whatever else he wanted on him. It then that Bruce decided that he would consider Thor a friend too and they exchanged all the numbers and social media accounts to make that offical.

Even so he had never actually been to one of his parties. To be honest they were kind of...intimating. Thor's parties were _the_ parties to go to, everyone on campus knew about them and everyone wanted to be invited to them. No matter what you were there for, alcohol, sex, a night to have fun and forget about school, you got it. Heck, Thor was known for _helping_ people get whatever they came there for. Bruce, since becoming Thor's friend, was always invited to them, but he never went. From the stories that he heard they seemed a little to intense for him. Still, if his goal was to get laid for the first time since high school, this was his best bet. 

It...didn't work, but thankfully it wasn't his fault. 

It felt like an important night, and so Bruce listened carefully to Tony. He had been to these parties a dozen times over. He knew what to expect, so Bruce let him pick out his clothes for him, what cologne to put on and when they should get there. The only point that Bruce made was that, if he was doing this, he was going so high he didn't over think any of it, and so they both got _completely fucked_ before they went. Tony decided on 'fashionably late' so when they did arrive everyone was already too drunk and too loud. 

Bruce took one step in and wanted to walk right back out.

He stuck to it, however, determined to...get this over with so that he could get over Clint. He took the red cup—even if he had no intention of drinking it—he was nice with the boy that Tony introduced him with, and hell, he was even trying to flirt. He was a hair's breadth from failing miserably when the cops showed up.

After that everything got a little blurry.

What Bruce did remember is that he was told to _run_ and that's just what he did. He was running with people at first, but between one blink and the next they were gone, leaving him to fend for himself. Bruce was not a runner, but he was high on both adrenaline and a copious amount of weed. He was planning on going until he collapsed. That moment, unfortunately, came a little sooner than he would have liked, and he was tripping and stumbling and the cement sidewalk was coming closer and—

Hands.

He only recognized them as such because he usually didn't like being grabbed so suddenly. These ones however, kept him from scratching his face against the sidewalk. Just this once they get a pass.

“Thanks.” Bruce said, breathless, heart pumping, everything feeling both too wonderful and too suspicious at the same time.

“No biggie.”

His head snapped up, and there he was. The man that he was trying to get out of his head, the man that had caused him so much stress but also always seemed to be there just when he was needed. Two seconds past of them just looking at each other, and Bruce never realized just how loud he breathed. Clint's eyes were right there, sharp and gray-blue and dancing with a mischief that matched his smirk.

Clint leaned closer and for a moment Bruce wondered if this is what heaven must be like.

“Come with me if you want to live.” It was the worst Arnold Schwarzenegger impression that he had ever heard. Bruce couldn't help but laugh just because of the ridiculousness of the situation. Clint let go of him, leaving Bruce feeling far too cold, and started to run away. Bruce followed, making sure to stay close enough to see him, but far enough that he wouldn't risk kicking or stepping on him. He didn't know where they were going, but from here he could watch Clint's ass as he ran and it was just...

Usually he hated running, but he would run all day if this was the sight he was rewarded with.

Clint turned sharply to the left and Bruce needed to take a second to shake off his daydreams before he could follow. They entered a building, but it wasn't until they were inside that he realized it was a McDonalds. Bruce put his hands on his knees and almost collapsed at the same time that Clint threw his arms up in the air.

“YES!” He proclaimed, his chest heaving as it worked to get air in his lungs. He had a shiny sheen of sweat over him, but Bruce was pretty sure the whole front of his own shirt was soaked. “I've been on a diet for three weeks! I'm eating _everything_!”

Clint did not actually order everything, but he ordered enough that they needed two trays just to hold all of it. They sat down at a booth near the centre of the restaurant but behind a large pillar to give them some privacy. Alone or not, however, Bruce was talking the moment he walked away with his own tray of food.

“Holy shit.” It was starting to catch up to him, everything that just happened, and the adrenaline and the weed seemed to be working together to form this childlike excitement. “That was _crazy_. Did that feel crazy? _That felt crazy_.” He sat down across from Clint, immediately digging for one of the burgers he got. It wasn't often that he felt like eating meat, but right now the more red meat the better. “But why are you even on a diet? You're like, perfect.” He paused to take a large bit of his burger, and it took effort not to talk before he swallowed. “ _Holy_ shit these burgers just...Holy shit I wonder if anyone got caught holy shit, we could be ratted out! I don't trust most of these assholes, and I can't afford to—” He cut himself off when he shoved some fries in his mouth, and he couldn't help his pleased moan. “Holy _shit_ try these fries they are so disgusting it's _perfect_.”

For the first time since he sat down he looked up at Clint, only to find him looking back. He was shoving food into his mouth pretty steadily, but even so he could see the smile clear in his eyes. Bruce almost wanted to shy away, but then Clint was reaching over to take a few of his fries. “It was pretty fucking crazy.” He agreed, and the moment before he shoved the fries into his mouth he was smirking. Bruce's heart sped up and it wasn't because of any adrenaline. 

He was struck just...staring at him. So of course he noticed when Clint's brow furrowed and he reached over to take another of Bruce's fries. He wouldn't even dream about trying to stop him. “Why the hell are your fries better than mine?” 

Wordlessly Bruce gave him his fries. He wasn't lying when he said that they were perfect, but the smile that lit up Clint's face was more than enough to make up for it. “Hey, thanks man.” He accepted the fries, shoving them into his mouth unceremonious and making a sudden noise around them. “Oh!” He swallowed them before he spoke again. “Did I ever tell you about the best fucking fry of my life?”

Then Clint was talking and Bruce listened with rapt attention. Well, that was actually a lie. Half of his attention was on his words, but the other half was on Clint's gesture's, his expressions, his body language. Well, that wasn't completely true either. He was still a little hyped up, so some of his attention was focused on sometimes getting his own two cents in. Not that it mattered, Clint seemed to enjoy the conversation and rolled with whatever topic change happened.

The more that they talked the more Bruce came to the realization that, before this conversation, he had made up an image of Clint in his head. His version of Clint wasn't really...human. He was more like a fantasy, unrealistically obedient, unrealistically selfless, unrealistically...well, unrealistic. His version of Clint talked like he was always featured in a live erotica, the real version of Clint talked like...like a person. Bright and excitable, and just drunk enough that everything seemed that little bit funnier, not to mention...kind of gross. Shoving food into his mouth and openingly belching without shame. He didn't ever think that Clint would be the type to do that, so maybe he should have been a little disappointed, but he wasn't. This wasn't helping him to get over his massive crush on the man, if anything, it was feeding it. The more they talked the more he just wanted...more.

He should have known something like this would be a little more difficult to solve.

Somehow, without Bruce's notice, Clint managed to eat everything that he had ordered. Considering tat both of his trays were loaded up to the brim, it was impressive. Sure, the blond was looking a little queasy as he rubbed at his stomach in a 'that was probably a bad idea' matter. Still, he looked smug, proud that he had managed to accomplish it. Bruce was oddly proud of him too, right up until Clint belched loud enough for it to echo around the restaurant. He wasn't so proud of him after that (Bruce told him that too, and it successfully made Clint laugh. The pride came back).

“Ah, fuck.” Clint, very full and still a little drunk (if the very present ~~adorable~~ blush on his face was anything to go by) scooted over so that he could very carefully lay down along the booth seat. Mystified and concerned, Bruce leaned over to table to check and see if Clint was okay. What he got was the image of Clint with his eyes closed in content, shirt lifted a little just so he rub at the tanned skin just to the side of his pronounced hip bone. Clint released what could only be described as a content, pleasured moan.

Bruce swallowed and told his dick they were in a public place. Still, that image was going to feed his ten o'clock alone time for a while.

“Hey.” Clint's voice snapped Bruce out of his trace, and it wasn't until now that he realized he was looking at him. Clint still looked smug but it was different somehow. “You look tired. You should lay down, too.”

Bruce blinked. “Isn't that unsanitary?”

Clint chuckled. “It feels great, I promise.”

He didn't say anything back, just nodded before he stood and rounded the table, sitting by Clint's feet so that he could stretch out in the other direction. “Hey, no, don't be a dick.” Clint's fingers brushed against his jeans as he swatted at them, and Bruce looked at his very amused face. “Right here, make room for everyone else who walks in.” He patted his chest, as if he wanted Bruce to lay there or—

Oh.

Bruce froze, realizing that Clint was _flirting_ with him. He had been flirting with him this WHOLE TIME. He was just too dense to see it. Now that he had this information he was...too shocked to do anything with it. He had spend nights...days...weeks, months, imagining what it would be like getting together with Clint. Not once, however, did he think about _Clint_ wanting the same thing, or at least being attracted to him in any way. It felt like...like Christmas had come early...but that it might disappear the moment he reached out and touched one of the presents.

He must have been silent for too long because Clint's smile slipped, and instead of looking smug he just looked...unsure, concerned. Bruce wasn't fond of the fact that he was the one who put that look there. “Hey, shit, sorry was that too fo—” Clint cut himself off when he tried to get up a little too fast, and instead hit his head on the edge of the table.

There was a moment of shocked silence, but then Clint was clutching at his forehead and emitting this high pitched whine/scream that Bruce didn't even think males were capable of.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, no no no no no.” Clint heaved in a breath, pulling up his legs as his eyes got glassy, and what was happening? “I can't get a bruise right now I have a show next week!” He took in another breath and slowly took his hands away while looking at Bruce. “Is it bad?”

Bruce strained his neck to see. It was...not the prettiest thing he's ever seen. Bruce opened his mouth for a moment, closed it, opened it again and realized that each second that pasted Clint looked closer and closer to tears. “I can fix it.” Is what he seemed to settle on and the next second he was up and running.

He was back in less than a minute, carrying with him a couple of ice cubes carefully bunched up in a few thin napkins. He leaned over Clint and pressed it to his forehead, nodding when the blond made to hold it there. “Ten minutes on, ten minutes off, okay?” Clint nodded, adding a pathetic snuffle like the drama student he was. “It'll be fine.”

Then, just as soon as it come on, his distraught face was broken by a brilliant smile. “My hero.” He said, and then he was reaching out. His hand floated in Bruce's vision, closer and closer until he could feel the insistent press of fingers against his cheek. “Thanks for saving me.” It was said softer, just quiet enough that Bruce had to lean in closer just to hear it. Then Clint was leaning in too, and it was only polite to keep going to. Just lean in closer and closer and closer until—

“Bruce!” 

Bruce's head snapped up at his name, his eyes wide as he had just been caught doing something bad. Tony didn't seem to notice, but right now Tony seemed far too drunk to notice anything. “Bruce you didn't get caught, nice! Rhodey wasn't so lucky.”

Bruce made frequent 'go away!' sweeping motions in a chance that Tony would do just that. He didn't.

“Hes such a goody two shoes though, so he should be out of there by tomorrow. Better than if you or I got caught, right? Hey, where's Eric? You two were getting along so well.”

Clint popped his head up from over the table to see what was going on.

“You only freaking went there to—oh.” Clint was half laying down on the booth, with Bruce practically half on top of him, it was pretty obvious what was going on. He blushed when he realized what was happening, but that soon turned into an angry flush when he also realized that his _best friend_ had just _cock blocked_ him. 

“I, uh...” It was the first time that Bruce had seen Tony look sheepish, _for good reason_ , and he slowly backed away. “I'll just...” He walked away then, giving them back the privacy that they needed. Bruce looked back at Clint who was just giggling under his breath. 

“Who's Eric?” He asked, but his voice was amused. His hand slipped up, fingers tickling at the small hairs of his neck before he let his arm rest lazily over his shoulders. It seemed so causal, but so intimate, and the shiver that ran through Bruce's body suddenly made everything overwhelming...but in a good way. “Should I be jealous?”

The question was so ridiculous Bruce didn't even answer (no one could come close to Clint, the idea was laughable). Instead, his eyes flickered down to his lips, curious about what he would taste like. The lips curled into a smile, and Bruce's heart beat was suddenly way to fast and loud. His eye's flickered back up and noticed that Clint was starting to lean in. He did too, until...

“Clint!”

Bruce had his eyes closed, so it took him a second to realize why this kiss felt off. Technically, he was kissing Clint, but his lips didn't land on Clint's lips. They landed on his cheek. Welp.

“Hey!” It was weird, being able to feel Clint's jaw work. “You got out!” The arm around his shoulder was gone and then there was a hand on his chest pushing him away. Bruce followed it, and Clint slipped out from under him with a grace that was surprising for a man so bloated. He watched, dumbstruck, as the blond went over to the large group of people that greeted him warmly, not wasting any time before they were chattering away.

Bruce breathed in, breathed out, touched his lips, and decided that he hated people.

“Rough, bro.” Bruce refused to move but Tony still sat down beside him on the booth seat, even though to do so he had to set his trey right on the corner of the table. “But hey, looks like he's just as into you as you are...” He trailed off, staring at Bruce, who was staring, still a little dumbfounded, at Clint. “Yeah, okay, not that much probably never that much but—”

“Shut up.” Bruce turned away from the blond to look at his friend, just missing when Clint looked back to him. “I know I'm not—I don't. I don't have any...” Bruce sighed and physically slumped. He had been here long enough that both the high from the weed and the adrenaline was gone. Now he just felt...tired...and a little nauseous from eating too much McDonalds. “I know I'm not a 'catch' and I know I'm out of his league, you don't have to keep reminding me.”

“What? No, what the hell Bruce.” Tony looked like he had just gotten slapped, and Bruce was almost tempted to make that a reality. “This isn't a time for your self pity, get back over there and—”

“Hey.” Both boys looked up to see Clint back in front of them, and he looked happy. His gaze was right on Bruce and he couldn't help but straighten up in response. “Give me your arm.”

“Why?” Bruce asked, but he was raising his arm and offering it to Clint even as the question was leaving his mouth. Clint didn't answer, but he did pull the cap off a sharpie he was holding and reach over to curl his long, callused fingers on his arm. 

“Uh...” Clint faltered for a moment, his smile fading, and Bruce was almost embarrassed to say that his first reaction to that was panic. “You're not going to have an allergic reaction if I write on your skin, are you?” 

Bruce shook his head in a 'no' and watched as Clint put the marker to his arm. 'Please don't draw a dick', he thought as he eyed the black marks carefully. It didn't take long before he realized what was being written, and his mind went blank as Clint capped the marker. It was a number, _Clint's_ number (he guessed). He stared at it, almost forgetting that Clint had his hand on him until tightened his grip and pulled him a little closer so that he could...

Clint kissed him. Clint...Clint was kissing him...

Well, it was just cheek, but dammit it was still kiss. 

“You should text me tomorrow.” Clint said when he pulled away. Bruce, right now, would rob a bank if Clint asked him too. “And then call the next day, when I'm not hung over as _fuck_.” He waited long enough to see Bruce nod before Clint turned around and left, talking animatedly with his friends on the way out. 

Bruce snapped out of his gaze he didn't know he was in until Tony slapped him on the shoulder.

“Didn't get laid but hey! In a few months you can say shit like 'hey babe, let's fuck'.”

Bruce didn't reply back. Honestly, he was still just in happy shock over what happened. Which was probably the reason why it took him so long to notice that Clint had drawn a crude dick beside his number.

*

About a month after that day Bruce went into Tony's dorm, only he didn't turn left to get into his room. Instead, he turned right and went into Clint's room. It was...a little new wrecking. Even though they spent so much time constantly texting and talking on the phone they never actually sat down and hung out since that night at the McDonalds. Still, ever since then they were just...always flirting with each other. Or, well, Clint was great at flirting while Bruce just fumbled with his words and deleted text after text in an attempt to get he wording right (he was pretty sure he never did).

Clint was...Clint was just amazing, even though he was vastly different from what Bruce had imagined. He was kind, great at reading people, hyper, and very over the top. The more he learned about him the more Bruce wanted to know about him and thankfully, Clint was raring to indulge. Or at least, Bruce assumed that was why he got a text that just said 'bake some of your special brownies and come over plz you'll be my hero ;)'. 

Bruce didn't know what it was, but the thought of Clint telling him that he was his hero in real life made him spring into action. His stash was supposed to last him for the next month, but he used a decent amount to make sure Clint would get the high that he wanted. He didn't need Tony around to tell him that he an idiot with a crush as big as the sun.

So that's how he spent his Sunday, sitting on Clint's bed, surrounded by Clint's stuff, sitting so close to the man himself they're arms were touching, and passing special brownies back and forth as if there wasn't a plate full of them within reach. It was...nice.

“Hey, hey.” Clint lightly hit his ribs with the back of his hand to get his attention. Bruce found this unnecessary, since his attention was always on Clint the moment they were in the same room together, but he wasn't about to say that out loud. Instead, he looked towards the Clint, who apparently could not stop smiling when he was stoned. “Thor's hosting a thing this weekend. You should come.”

Bruce grunted, stretching out his leg until his foot touched Clint's. The blond didn't move away, and Bruce's chest felt light. “I'm not the partying kind. I, uh, don't drink.” 

Clint hummed, and shifted until he could rest his head on Bruce's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. If Bruce wasn't so stoned he was pretty sure he would just die. “Hanging around drunk people when you're sober is the worst.” There was a pause, and then Clint was giggling. “Or the best, depending.”

Bruce didn't know what the depending was, but he laughed anyways. Clint laughed too, and they killed a few minutes laughing a little too hard. He might have put a little too much 'special' into the special brownies. “You should come.” Clint repeated, his breath against Bruce's neck making him shiver. “Stick to me, we can be sober together and laugh at everyone else.” He slapped at Bruce's thigh this time. “C'mon, dude. Please?”

Bruce would have agreed to anything that he asked of him at that moment. 

*

Bruce was hard pressed to call this a 'party'. It was more like an intimate hang out, which was much better than what he was expecting. There couldn't have been anymore than say fifteen, twenty people around the sizable house that Thor shared with his brother. Bruce knew everyone that was there, but he spent all of his time curled up on the couch with Clint, who was just drunk enough that he was being a little more touchy then normal (“I said I was going to be sober.” Was Clint's defence when Bruce reminding him of his words. “Tipsy is basically sober.” Bruce couldn't even correct him; he had come to the outing fairly high himself). 

It was the best social event Bruce had attended since...well, since he and his former girlfriend Betty were invited to a movie where everyone else didn't show up and they made out for the first time in the back of the theatre. However he didn't think that that counted. He was actually just about to ask Clint if it did when the man released what could only be described as a _squeal_. 

“ _Holy shit_ this is my jam!” Bruce didn't even realize that there was music playing, but then Clint was shooting up and grinning broadly. “I hadn't heard this song in _years_!” Then Clint was dancing. He was the only one dancing, but he made it seem like it was the most natural thing that he should be doing with himself at that moment. He didn't seem to think it was needed to move much further than the couch, however, so Bruce had a close up view as he shook and twisted his body to the music. Bruce had never been a big fan of music or dancing himself but if he was going to get this view more often, then maybe his point of view could be turned around.

“Shit.” That cuss was all the warning that he got before Clint was tumbling over the (what looked like) expensive carpet and falling back to sprawl over Bruce's lap. There was a second of silence and then everyone, including the few people around them, started to laugh. Yeah, probably the best social outing that he has ever been too.

“Musical theatre student, huh?” Natasha teased from where she was lounging on the other side of the couch. Clint turned away and did something with his face towards the woman. Bruce couldn't see what it was, but it apparently deserved a kick to the shoulder. 

“Ow! Fine!” Clint sounded indigent, but he was giggling as he pulled himself up. Bruce helped him to get up and off of his lap, which was why he was surprised when Clint turned around and bent down so that he could link his arms around Bruce's neck. “Hey.” He said like it was a secret, a handsome smirk on his face. “Did I ever tell you that I once took a pole dancing class with my foster mom?”

Bruce was about to reply and tell him that he didn't even know that he had a foster mom, but then Clint's hands were...moving. He could only look down and watched, opened mouthed and dumb, as Clint's hands slowly slid off his neck, down his collarbone and to his chest. Bruce blinked and the hands were gone. Apparently Clint needed them to be able to...to...

Okay, so maybe Bruce was a little uneducated when it came to song and dance and basically anything to do with current pop culture, but even he wasn't stupid enough to miss...Well...he was pretty sure Clint was gearing up to give him a lap dance.

Bruce gulped as everyone else close enough to them seemed to also understand what was happening. Choruses of scandalized 'ooo's filled the air as the blond rolled his hips...deliciously. Clint grinned, bright and confident, and Bruce didn't even think he would be able to tell someone what his name was right now if they asked. Clint was...he was, uh, in the musical theatre department so it only made sense that he could dance. What didn't make sense was how damn easy he made it look, how he could move his body like that without shame, how he could just so causally pick the hem of his shirt up, put it into his mouth and—

Abs.

Bruce just stared, not caring about who saw or who knew he was doing it. He watched as those abs slowly came closer and closer, and then they were right there in front of him. On him would be more accurate and it took a moment before he realized that Clint was straddling his leg. His hands were back on his chest and he was already impossibly close but then he was getting closer and closer and his abs were _right there_ and Bruce's hands were trembling but it was okay to touch right? He wouldn't have gotten this close unless it was okay to touch and he had been flirting and his body and Clint Clint Clint—

“You're doing it wrong.” Bruce blinked and Clint was gone but Natasha was in his place. Only she didn't hold back. Where Clint was just straddling his leg Natasha was all the way onto his lap, groin to groin. “Watch.” Bruce blinked again and then Natasha moved up, shoving her tits into his face as she did something that caused a lot of jiggling and a lot of cheers.

There were...worst ways to spend a Friday night.

“No no no! You gotta know the man!” Natasha pulled himself off of Bruce's lap with a graceful lift of her leg. The spot was cold for all of two seconds before Tony was on there, much to Bruce's chagrin. Tony batted his eyelashes flirtatiously and Bruce couldn't help but roll his eyes when he followed with, “Hold me, Jack!” Bruce understood what he meant a moment later when Tony slipped dangerously far off of his lap. Bruce reached out on automatic to grab his thighs but apparently it was all part of the act, because Tony was wiggling his hips in a way that got a lot of cat calls.

“Antony!” Thor's booming voice was hard to miss as he made his way over, people parting to the side as if he was some kind of party Moses. “I too, would like to try something that Bruce would enjoy!”

Tony laughed, and finally raised himself up enough that Bruce wouldn't worry about him falling. “Your house, your rules!” Finally, Tony got off him and Bruce actually welcomed the cold space left behind. Well, that was until it was filled with another warm...ass. Thor was in his lap, but he seemed to have forgotten how sitting in people's laps worked. He had his legs clamped tight over Bruce's thighs and hips, holding his body up from the floor with his hands as he, oh, he was twerking. 

Everyone around them made noises that would only be described as 'losing their shit.'

Thor's booming laughter and a few cheerful claps marked the end of the copious jiggling and Bruce gave it a little pat as a 'good job.' The get together was in new swing after that, and his lap was free of people Bruce was pulled away for a round of group pictures and snapchats. It was a lot of social interaction, which Bruce wasn't usually fond of, but with this small intimate group of friends, it was nice.

It wasn't until the morning when he was brushing his teeth did he realize that all that extra attention kept him away from getting closer to Clint. He wanted to be mad about it, he really did, but he got lap dances from four attractive people. Heck, it turned out that sneaky Steve Rogers actually got the whole thing on video. He spent that early afternoon chewing on a bagel in a coffee shop watching it and reading through all the comments. For some reason the people on Steve's Facebook page seemed to think that he had game, and that little realization made him snort into his Earl Gray. 

“You don't have to have any game if you're good looking.” Clint assured him from when they were walking out of the frozen yogurt shop. The day had taken an unexpected turn for the hot, so Clint was wearing a loose tank top and short shorts that Bruce was pretty sure hadn't been in style since the eighties. 

Bruce had a new appreciation for the eighties. 

“If you just work it everyone will come to you.” Clint got French vanilla and loaded it with toppings. He took a spoonful and slowly ate it, getting a bit on his lip that he immediately lapped up with his tongue. There was a long pause before Bruce snapped out of his thoughts and realized he was expected to reply. 

“I...don't have either of those but, uh...” He told himself to look straight ahead as he took a bite out of his own raspberry yogurt with sparkles and crushed butterfingers. It was delicious. “You probably have more experience with that...I'll just take your word for it.”

“Are you calling me a slut?”

“What? No! I...” Bruce looked over at Clint, panicked for a second that he had offended him. Thankfully Clint looked amused, a mischievous glint in his eye that showed he was kidding. Still, Bruce felt the need to defend himself. “I'm just saying that you're very attractive. A lot more that m—”

“Shush.” There was suddenly a finger on his lips. Bruce went cross eyed to look at it. It took a second for him to realize that Clint had just _shushed_ him. “We are both very hot, young, horny teenagers with the rest of our life to look forward too.” He wasn't looking towards him when he said that, which was good. Bruce could feel his face flush from when he said 'horny.' “Anyways, I got a performance tomorrow night, but I have to pull an all nighter to finish up a essay for my morning class.” He huffed aggressively, which wasn't something that Bruce thought was possible, and ate a spoonful of nothing but gummy bears and chocolate chips. “I'm going to need all the beauty sleep I can get, and since your dorm is closer I was thinking I would crash there for a few hours. That wouldn't be weird, would it? I sleep through anything, so you don't have to worry about waking me up.”

“No that's fine.” Bruce sounded nonchalant but he suddenly felt a little too hot all over, and it wasn't because of the sun. Like he would say no to the chance to get Clint into his bed, even if he was just sleeping. It still counted. “Text me before you come over, I might be at the library.”

“If you can get your grumpy ass out of bed.” Clint lightly elbowed his side, and it was too hot for how brilliantly he smiled. “I charge for wake up calls but I don't think you would want that.” He was smiling wider, pleased at a joke to some story that he would probably tell Bruce about later. For now, Bruce smiled and didn't tell him about how much he would really love for Clint to be the one to wake him up, and to keep him up, and to help him sleep.

The effort, he was pretty sure, killed him.

*

Clint had been over at his dorm before, many times. He had seen it in varying states of cleanliness and even once tripped on one of his hoodies and bruised his elbow. Bruce knew that Clint didn't care and didn't judge him about it...but for some reason he was struck with the urge to make sure his room was tidy. He woke up too late to get to the library so he instead spent his morning shoving toast into his mouth and cleaning. He was distracted more than a couple of times so what should have only taken maybe twenty minutes took about an hour. By the time he checked his phone he had two messages from Clint and one from Natasha five minutes apart from either other. 

'Don't hurt him.' Read Natasha's. Bruce stared at it for about ten seconds before he clocked it up to a wrong number.

'Just got out. You want a doughnut?' From Clint. Three minutes later the other text read. 'I got you a doughnut. Text me when I can come over.'

'I'm here. You can come.' Bruce didn't know why he was so nervous. Clint had been over before. He had been on his bed, he had touched him, they had been laying really close. Now, he would probably just make sure that Clint was comfortable before he went to the other side of the room to get some work done. His phone buzzed just before he was able to put it down.

'omw ;)' 

Bruce put the phone down again. Reached for it, pulled back. There were a few sweat shirts on his bed that he still needed to hang up. He figure that he might as well do that while he was just waiting around for

'I'll see you soon just come up.' He caved and sent him a text. 'I have something you can change into if you don't have anything.' One more text wouldn't hurt. 'I don't have any snacks.'

He got a text back less than a minute later. 'its' cool.'

Cool. 

Bruce put the phone down, ran his hands through his hair, and took a deep breath. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that today he was going to die. 

Ten minutes (six hundred seconds) later there was a knock on his door. Clint was grinning like a hyper maniac that was only achieved from lack of sleep. “Hey.” He said, and he sounded breathless for some reason, like he had ran here. Bruce hoped not; it was hot as balls outside. “Thanks for this.”

“It's not a problem.” Bruce stood there awkwardly for a moment before he stepped to the side to let Clint pass by him into the room. He did so, tossing a small bag, which Bruce was assuming was his doughnut, on his dresser. “Did you get your essay done?”

“Yeah.” Clint said it more like a sigh, his hands on his hips. He had his eyes down on ground and his face was a little pink for some reason. He glanced up at him and then his eyes were on the ground again. It was weird, but he did say he was up all night. He was probably just tired. “It wasn't great but anything is better than a zero, right?” He tilted his head sideways and smiled over at Bruce but it was...subdued, almost nervous. He really needed some sleep. 

Bruce nodded and couldn't help but smile back. “I can help you with editing if you need.” He always felt weird leaving his door open without purpose so he turned around to make sure it clicked closed proper. “Natasha and I usually get together to—”

It all happened in five seconds.

The first second Bruce turned around and Clint was right there, in his personal bubble, his face so close he almost feared their noses would clash if he didn't push himself back against the door.

The second second Clint's hand was pressed against the wall next to Bruce's shoulder, the other tentatively circling around his wrist. For half of it, Bruce wondered if he was dreaming.

The third second Clint was staring at him, his expression open and...vulnerable. Bruce's breath hitched when those gray blue eyes flickered down to his mouth.

The forth second Clint leaned in, tilting his head and stopping just as his hot breath hit Bruce's lips.

The fifth second Bruce leaned in too fast and nearly clinked their teeth together. 

Clint made a surprised noise, and they fumbled for a moment before they could properly slot their lips together. That extra part probably made it closer to six seconds, but it really didn't matter. Clint was kissing him...Clint started the kiss Clint wanted to kiss him _he was kissing Clint._

It had been a long time since Bruce had kissed anyone, a really long time, so he let Clint take the lead. Clint kissed...slow, cautious, with just a hint of awkwardness to it. It was so strangely endearing, but Bruce wanted more, he wanted _everything_ and he wanted it _so bad_. He reached up, cupping Clint's face and pulling him closer, trying to deepen the kiss. His chest felt warm when Clint made another surprised noise, but then he was chuckling, fond and nervous, against his lips before his kisses lost that awkward element. Bruce did not miss it.

It felt like a new day when Clint pulled away, still so close that Bruce would smell the cream cheese bagels he was obsessed with having after every class. He just looked at him for a moment, and then he looked like he was going to say something and Bruce panicked.

He would have been content being Clint's friend if he never returned his feelings but now he knew what his lips tasted like. He knew what it was like for Clint to look at him like he was the only person in that moment in time. If Clint changed his mind and said that he didn't want this...Bruce knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. “Can we talk about it later?” He blurted in a whispered rush, unsure if he wanted Clint to hear. By the stunned look on is face, he can see that he did anyway. 

“Oh.” Clint looked...Clint was looking down and...Bruce was pretty sure that he said something that he really wasn't supposed to say. Bruce backpedalled. He backpedalled hard.

“I'm sorry! That's not, uh, I just mean you're so attractive and great and nice and you could have _anybody_ and I'm not really much of anything. So I—I really like you and I want _this_ I want, want you all to myself and...!”

Bruce sucked in a breath when Clint looked back up at him with that same shocked look on his face. Was that a good look or a bad look? _Shit!_ “Fuck, Clint you—”

Clint was kissing him again. Bruce was more than alright with that.

It felt like _another_ new day when they pulled back, panting lightly from their impromptu make out session. Clint's face was flushed, his lips were swollen, and _holy shit_ he was beautiful. He knew he was beautiful but he didn't know he was...that beautiful. Or could be that beautiful. Bruce leaned in to kiss him again, only to jolt back when Clint yawned widely in face.

Oh. Right. The reason he was here in the first place. 

“Shit. Sorry.” Clint took a few lazy steps back, but still kept his hand on his wrist. Bruce wiggled out just enough that he could take hold of his hand instead. Clint didn't even hesitant giving it a squeeze. “I was going to wait to do this but this seemed—”

“You were planning for this?” Clint, wonderful, beautiful, brilliant Clint was planning on this? It seemed too good to be true, and he couldn't help but stare as Clint dropped his gaze a little. His pleasant flush turned into a deep blush and _fuck_ he was cute. Cute and beautiful and holy shit they had just made out. 

“I know that you've liked me for a while.” Clint was smirking a little, but he still has that bashful blush on his face. “You're not subtle about it. I just, uh, didn't know exactly...” He rolled his hand around uselessly. “ _How_ you liked me I'm...not looking for a quick fuck. It's not my thing anymore so—”

“I'm too jealous for it to be anything but a relationship.” Bruce agreed a little too fast. Was this a dream? The way that Clint was looking at him with that fond, pleased smile, seemed far too good to be true. There was a pull on his hand though, and he could _feel_ it. It left him confused and numb and so so so unbearably _happy_.

“I'll have to exploit that sometime. C'mon.” Clint was pulling him deeper into the room, and Bruce blindly followed. “I wasn't lying about the sleeping thing. You should sleep with me.” He paused when he reached the foot of his bed, hesitant. “I, uh, mean _literal_ sleep, if that's okay?”

Was he really asking him if _cuddling_ was okay? “ _Yes_.” Bruce breathed enthusiastically. Clint smiled, and Bruce felt as if a whole new world had opened for him when he leaned forward and kissed him _just because he could_. Once they parted Bruce leaned in to do the same because well, because he could. Clint huffed a soft chuckle against his lips when they parted, and Bruce gained a new love for cream cheese. 

“C'mon.” He said around a large yawn, letting go of Bruce hand (much to his disappointment). He rounded the bed, pulling the covers up and slipping inside with a grateful sigh. He looked more than ready to fall into a deep sleep but instead he looked over at Bruce, smiled and patted the bed next to him in open invitation.

Bruce almost tripped with how fast he stumbled to get in there.

He threw the blanket over himself and looked over at his very attractive bed mate, who was shaking with silent giggles. “I have never seen anyone so fucking ready for a nap.” Clint teased. Not that it mattered, because then he was throwing an arm over Bruce's stomach and shuffling right into his bubble. “This okay?”

“Yeah.” Bruce turned just in time to see the tired smile spread over his face, and it wasn't long before Clint's eyes were shut too. Before he could over think it and lose his nerve, he turned on his side and tentatively placed a hand over his hip. Clint made a pleased noise but he still felt the need to ask. 

“This okay?”

“Course.” Clint shifted a little bit to get more comfortable, causing Bruce's hand to slide further along his body in the process. Bruce, if only for a moment, wondered if he was dead, because this must be heaven that he's stumbled across. “We should met up somewhere after my performance.” Clint continued, a sleepy tint to his tone. “Then we can talk about...this, all of this. That sound good?”

If it meant more of even just this in the future, Bruce was more than alright with that. “We could go to that McDonalds again.” And this time he could actually kiss him the way he was going to before.

“'M on a diet.” 

Bruce scoffed. “You really don't have to be.”

Clint's eyes opened just enough so that he could lean to kiss him again. Bruce helped by very willingly meeting him halfway. “We'll talk about it later.” Clint decided when his head hit the pillow again. “Night, Bruce.”

“It's one in the afternoon.”

“Whatever.” 

It was impressive, how quickly Clint's breaths evened out to someone in a deep sleep. He even snored, just a tiny bit, and Bruce couldn't help but find it adorable. Then again, that was everything about Clint. He was somehow both adorable and drop dead gorgeous at the same time.

And he was his.

Bruce sucked in a breath at that, his heart leaping up to his chest when he realized that the most beautiful man he had ever seen had just basically asked him to go steady. He was...he was _dating_ Clint Barton!

He really must be dead.

Still, he allowed himself a moment to just look at the man who was sleeping next to him. Allowed himself a moment to replay what had just happened in his head. Replay the feel of Clint's lips against his own, of the private smiles and intimate touches...

He lasted all of five seconds before he broke out into a smile that seemed far too large for his face. It had been...a long _long_ while, if ever, that he's felt this happy and excited for things to come. He didn't think about it, didn't let his tendency to over think get in the way of this. Instead he just held on to that feeling, and let it lull him into a half sleep daze.

It was...well, it was nice.


End file.
